Free 9 Hell on Wheels by Sue Ann Jaffarian

fat behind,” I told Steele. “You got this off of Westlaw. It says so right here.”
    “Who cares where I got it,” snapped Steele. He swallowed hard as a stab of pain radiated across his face. “The point is, I can do research for you while I’m laid up. I can make calls too.”
    “You’re as bad as my mother. She was all hopped up last night about this.” I put down the Westlaw printout. “Why is it you all want to be involved in the very things that put my ass in danger?” I took a deep breath. “All but Zee. I swear, she and Seth are the only sensible people I know.”
    “Aren’t you even going to read that report?” Steele pointed at the papers now sitting on top of the expanding folder. “After all the trouble I went to, and me all banged up.” Turning down his swollen lips, he flashed me the most pathetic bruised face I’d ever seen on a grown man, like a GQ model still healing from plastic surgery gone wrong.
    “Careful, Steele, or I’ll make your eyes a matched set.” I got up to leave before my threat became a reality. I’m not given to physical violence as a rule, but Steele was playing the sympathy card until it was a threadbare red flag being flashed at a bull.
    “Just read the damn thing,” he pushed, obviously not afraid of my physical threat one bit. “That Tanaka’s a real piece of work.”
    I grabbed the printout and stuffed it into my bag, then I pushed the expanding folder closer to him. “I’ll read it with Greg tonight, but now I have to go.”
    While I was putting on my sweater, my cell phone rang. It was Greg. “Hi, honey,” I said as soon as I answered. Without waiting for a response, I tacked on, “I’m leaving Steele’s right this minute.”
    “No rush,” Greg said from his end. “Rocky cancelled.”
    “Oh, why?” A part of me was pleased because I was tired and wanted to go home, but in a different part of my body alarms were going off.
    “If you’re near a TV, quick turn on channel 4.”
    Without hesitation, I grabbed Steele’s remote and aimed it at the TV, turning it to channel 4’s local news. Behind the newscaster was a photo of Miranda Henderson. It was a lovely photo showing her bright eyes and smile, and it certainly didn’t give the impression that she was a killer. I increased the volume on the TV and put Greg on speaker.
    “That’s Rocky’s wife,” I said to Steele.
    I expected the news to be that Miranda had been apprehended as a suspect in Peter Tanaka’s murder, but that wasn’t the case. Rocky’s van had been found, and so had Miranda Henderson. Her body had been found inside Rocky’s van behind an abandoned warehouse in San Diego.
    In shock, I plopped back down on the sofa.
    “You watching?” asked Greg from the phone.
    “Yes, honey. How awful.”
    Steele had leaned forward in his chair to pay closer attention to the screen and to hear Greg. “Maybe she committed suicide,” he suggested.
    “It’s a possibility,” added Greg.
    When the news was over, I told Greg I was going straight home. He said he’d meet me there shortly.
    I didn’t get up right away from Steele’s sofa. My legs felt rubbery and unable to support me.
    “You okay, Grey?” Steele asked.
    “Yeah, just in shock.”
    “Take your time. It’s a lot to take in.” He took the remote from me and muted the sound. “I’m sorry about your friend. Very sorry.”
    I could tell from Steele’s tone, slurred or not, that he meant it.
    “In fact, why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure Greg won’t mind. I can heat up some of Cruz’s soup for us.”
    I shook my head. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I glanced over at Steele. He was trying hard to be sensitive to the situation even while in his own physical pain. “But I do love her soup.”
    “It’s the best,” he agreed, doing his best to normalize the leaden atmosphere created by the news.
    We sat there a few more minutes before I finally got to my feet and picked up my bag. “You still interested in